


Love as Punishment

by ultrapsychobrat



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultrapsychobrat/pseuds/ultrapsychobrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The path of true love isn't always smooth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love as Punishment

"That isn't funny." Avon pushed away from Blake's arms, snarling in anger. He snatched up his recently discarded jacket and headed for the door, stopping as he reached it. "Open the door," he ordered quietly.

"Oh, come on, Avon, it was a joke. Just a joke."

Blake walked up behind him. Avon could feel the seductive warmth of the big body moving in on him. He whirled and flattened his back against the door. "Don't touch me," he spat, every muscle in his body clenched and ready to explode in violence, his eyes promising death.

Hands raised in a gesture of appeasement, Blake took a step back. "You're over reacting; it wasn't a serious suggestion. Okay, it was a stupid thing to say."

"Extremely." Avon's voice was flat, lacking any affect, but his eyes still flamed with anger. "Open the door," he repeated in the same tone, and waited while Blake reluctantly walked over to the door release by his bed.

His hand hesitated and he looked back at Avon over his shoulder. "Won't you at least let me apologize? I'm sorry if--"

"Now," Avon interrupted with a bit more force, turning away. The door snicked open, releasing him into the corridor, and then closed behind him.

He drew in a shaky breath and stood for a moment regaining his composure. He'd pleaded with himself not to fall into the trap of loving Blake--denied it in the face of evidence to the contrary, but had finally captitulated because he could do nothing else. Now he was trapped--unable to leave, yet, unable to bear the truth of this doomed life. One day, very soon, Blake was going to die, killed in some foolish risk taken for his thankless masses. He would be gone and Avon would be left alone, caught in his own living death ..._you could always sell me to the Federation_. Damn him to hell.

^*^*^*^*^*^*  
Blake flopped down on his bunk, resting the back of one hand over his eyes, and tried to relax. The throb of the near-constant headache seemed to increase, but he set his mind to ignore this familiar demon, as usual. There wasn't much that could be done for it that didn't drug his awareness, and he needed his wits about him--not that one could tell based on his recent encounter with Avon.

Why on earth had he made such an inflamatory comment to his easily provoked lover? It wasn't as though he had no idea how Avon would react; he knew and had said it anyway, almost as if he wanted to bait him. Oh, hell, maybe he had. But why couldn't Avon just accept that he loved Blake and was loved in return? It was a simple concept, or it would be simple for anyone other than Avon. Complicated wasn't the word for him; convoluted more closely described his emotional processes. He trusted Avon completely, always had, despite his mutinous talk. It was Avon who didn't trust Avon, always needing to prove his value while daring others to rely on him at their own risk, always testing the limits of the love he couldn't quite believe.

Sometimes, it was all just too much and his irritation overcame his sense--like tonight. They'd both had the night shift off, and had ended up in Blake's quarters. Talk had turned, as it frequently did, to the their constant argument over the value of the fight, and exactly what it was Avon was getting from all this.

He'd tried changing the focus by taking Avon into his arms, nuzzling his face with small, nibbling kisses. But the stubborn tech had avoided his mouth to continue the argument.

_At this rate, you will have spent the contents of the treasury. Just how am I supposed to end up with enough wealth to buy my safety?_

And he'd felt his own surge of irritation at this useless question.

_Well, when this is all over, you could always sell me to the Federation--I'm worth quite a hefty sum._

He'd felt Avon go rigid, and then shove him away. The anger that looked out at him from the dark eyes had been real and deadly. Attempts at apology had been rebuffed, and he'd watched him walk out the door.

A stupid, petty remark--without value or merit. Why couldn't he just shut up? Why couldn't Avon just trust him? And what in the name of all that was sacred was going to happen to them? That is, if they didn't die as Avon insisted they would. Maybe that would be the best and oh-so-easiest solution to everything. Because sometimes loving that man felt like a punishment.


End file.
